‘Please!’ said Kenyngham with a shudder. ‘Dwelling on riots and arson is not helping us discover the killer of poor Master Runham. Are you certain someone took his life, Matthew? Are you sure you are not mistaken?’
‘I am not mistaken,’ said Bartholomew. ‘I showed you the feathers and fluff he had inhaled when the cushion was placed over his mouth, and I showed you the damage he did to his hands as he tried to claw his killer away from him.’
‘And we found the guilty cushion,’ added Michael. ‘It was that lovely one which Agatha made for her fireside chair. It was stuffed with goose feathers that matched those Matt found in Runham’s mouth, and stained with drool where it had been forced over his face.’
‘Perhaps even more incriminating,’ said Bartholomew, ‘is the fact that it lay on the opposite side of the room from the body. After the killer had used it to smother Runham, he set it down on the bench under the window. Even if Runham had suffocated himself – which I am certain he did not – he could not have placed the cushion on the bench after he had died.’
‘This is dreadful,’ said Kenyngham in a whisper. ‘Who would do such a terrible thing?’
‘Who said it was terrible?’ muttered Langelee.
‘We have an impressive collection of suspects,’ Michael went on. ‘First, there is Langelee.’
Bartholomew could not but help wonder whether Langelee was top of Michael’s list because Langelee had thwarted the monk’s ambition to be Master by raising the issue of his dealings with Oxford. Bartholomew knew that it was only a matter of time before Michael had his revenge, and suspected that the first step had just been taken.
‘Me?’ asked Langelee in astonishment. ‘Why should I kill Runham?’
Michael sighed. ‘Do not treat us like imbeciles. Runham dismissed you because of your marriage to Julianna. Now that he is dead, you are likely to be reinstated by a more lenient Master, not to mention the fact that the repayment of your stipend will not be forced. You have a very good reason for killing him.’
Especially if Langelee expected to be the next Master, thought Bartholomew. He recalled Langelee confiding details of his marriage so that Bartholomew would support him if Runham ever ‘conveniently died’, to use Langelee’s own words.
‘So do a lot of people,’ said Langelee angrily. ‘Father William also lost his Fellowship because of Runham – perhaps he crept out of his friary last night and shoved a cushion over Runham’s face. Why else would he refuse to join us?’
‘Because he fears exactly the accusation you have just made,’ said Michael. ‘As Paul has already told us.’
‘And what about him?’ snapped Langelee, pointing an accusing finger at Paul. ‘He lost his Fellowship because of Runham, too. And do not even think of claiming that his blindness means that he could not commit murder. It is dark at night – Paul was probably at an advantage.’
‘An interesting conjecture,’ said Michael blandly, although Bartholomew had no idea whether he had taken the suggestion seriously or was just humouring the belligerent philosopher.
‘And him.’ Langelee swung his accusing finger around to point at Kenyngham. ‘He lost a Fellowship of almost thirty years’ duration to Runham. You cannot tell me that he did not have good cause for wanting the man dead.’
‘Are you referring to me?’ asked Kenyngham, genuinely startled. ‘But I have never killed anyone in my life!’
‘Every murderer has to start somewhere,’ said Michael drolly.
Bartholomew shook his head, not liking the way the scholars were already turning on each other in the search for a culprit. He hoped their meeting would not turn into a witch hunt. But regardless, of all the Michaelhouse scholars, Bartholomew thought Kenyngham the one least likely to murder someone – especially in such a cold and deliberate a way. Suffocation required that the killer press hard against his victim, forced to hear the gasps and entreaties for mercy, and obliged to watch the helpless drumming of heels on the floor and the scrabbling of ever-weakening hands. It was not like a swift knife under the ribs, which might happen in the heat of the moment; suffocation took longer and there was less chance that it could be accidental.
‘And Paul, Kenyngham and William are not alone in having reasons to strike Runham dead,’ continued Langelee. ‘What about Clippesby and Suttone? They fell victim to Runham’s charming temperament, too.’
‘That is unfair,’ said Suttone quietly. ‘We have only just arrived in Cambridge, and have not had time to make an enemy of Runham.’
‘But he has had time to make an enemy of you,’ Langelee pressed on relentlessly. ‘I recall quite clearly Runham telling us that you had been accused of theft at your friary in Lincoln.’
‘Why would that be cause for me to kill him?’ asked Suttone. ‘He had already announced to the entire Fellowship that a long time ago I was accused of a theft of which I was later found to be innocent. What would be the point of killing him when the “secret” was already out?’
‘Then what about him?’ snarled Langelee, casting a venomous glower at Clippesby. ‘Runham accused him of being insane, and so he had motive enough to silence his tormentor once and for all. He has worked hard to ingratiate himself with Runham by spying for him on the other Fellows, but Runham turned on him after all his labours.’
Clippesby’s face was like wax, and his eyes were hollow and haunted. ‘I did not spy,’ he whispered.
‘You did,’ said Suttone tiredly. ‘Do not lie, Clippesby. It is better to be honest. I saw you on a number of occasions hovering near the rooms of other scholars, hoping to hear something seditious that you could pass to Runham.’
‘I heard you loitering outside doors, too,’ said Paul quietly. ‘And I overheard you with Runham, plotting to trick Matthew into making incriminating remarks about his teaching that could be used to bring about his resignation.’
‘What?’ asked Bartholomew, horrified.‘When was this?’
‘In the church the day after Runham was elected,’ said Clippesby miserably. His chin came up in a feeble gesture of defiance. ‘But Master Runham was right in his concerns: you did confess to him that you used the Devil’s wiles to heal your patients.’
‘I can assure you that I did not,’ said Bartholomew in disgust. ‘If you want to be a spy, you should at least make sure you listen carefully and that your memory of conversations is accurate.’
‘And what about you as a suspect for Runham’s murder?’ demanded Langelee, rounding on Bartholomew. ‘You would have lost your Fellowship today, because Runham had driven you into a corner. You have as good a motive for killing Runham as anyone.’
‘He would not have lost his Fellowship,’ said Michael confidently. ‘Matt would rather give up practising medicine than forsake his teaching.’
‘Actually, I–’ began Bartholomew.
‘Even so, Runham would have made life so uncomfortable that you would not have stayed long,’ Langelee continued, cutting across Bartholomew’s words. He turned to Michael. ‘And that goes for you, too. Were you aware that he had plans to ration the food? That would have driven you out pretty quickly.’
‘When was this?’ asked Michael in surprise. ‘I have not heard about such a harsh measure.’
‘It happened at one of the meetings held when the only Fellows present were those not strong enough to object,’ said Suttone bitterly. ‘Runham was cunning – he passed all manner of statutes and ordinances when the more senior of you were absent.’
‘So,’ said Michael, ‘we are left with two unpleasant facts: first, we have a dead Master; and second, every one of his Fellows had a reason to wish him harm. And there are students and servants, too, who had run foul of him and were dismissed – like Rob Deynman, Sam Gray, Cynric, Walter and Agatha.’